


Thin Walls

by allthegayotps



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breakfast, Roommates, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:46:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthegayotps/pseuds/allthegayotps





	Thin Walls

"You look wrecked." Sam was right, Castiel looked like the part of roadkill that catches the eye of the friend who has a soft stomach. You know, the one that ends up puking on the side of the road because _that was it's **brain**. _ He gulped more of the scorching coffee, trying to ignore that the entire reason for this problem was sitting right next to him and - given the chance - he could literally murder his friend.

"Thank you, I was hoping to get your input into my physical appearance today." He couldn't help it, his anger was inescapable and civility was completely out of the question. More of the liquid that was quickly turning the inside of his mouth into a war zone spilled down his throat, the bitterness soaking through his taste buds and caffeine slowly pumping through his bloodstream in an attempt to keep him upright. 

"Ouch, Cas." Dean was all bright smiles and generous offers today, his good mood only festering the edges of Castiel's bad one. "No need to be mean."

"I was also hoping for you to offer insight into my actions, Dean. It has really brightened my day." He didn't turn to watch him process the words, just drained his mug and set it close to the end of the table. He needed more, quickly, if he was expected to survive this breakfast with Sam and Gabriel.

"Little brother, why do you look like Dean-o scraped you off the pavement after a semi rolled by?" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, tersely thanking the waitress that was refilling his coffee mug. "Seriously, you look a mess."

"As I have already discussed with the Winchesters, I look forward to everyone's thoughts on just how well I look presently." He downs half of the liquid that had just been poured into his glass, ignoring the burns he can feel forming on his tongue. "It truly brings me pleasure to know that you can all see the same thing I do when I look in a mirror."

"C'mon, Cas..." He glared over the edge of his mug at Sam, desperately trying not to see the godforsaken puppydog eyes Sam was throwing back his way. Damn the Winchesters.

"Fine." He drowned in the caffeine the rest of his third cup of coffee offered, accepting another before ordering from the limited diner menu. "Why do we always meet in diners? There's hardly any _choice_ in what you can order."

"Because diners have the best burgers." Dean is setting his menu down, looking up to spout off his own order to the young waitress. "And waffles."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, gathering up Dean's menu before he said anything to the man at the root of his problems this morning. "Of course it would be your choice."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He sounded slightly offended, but Castiel couldn't give a rat's ass if he felt like he was being betrayed by the Queen of fucking England at that point in time because _he_ was the reason that the bitter liquid in a chipped ceramic mug was the only thing keeping the him vertical.

"I was merely commenting on the fact that you like to make decisions based on your own wants." He smiled thinly when the waitress was refilling his mug again. He wondered absently if she'd been  staring at their table and that was the reason she knew exactly when his cup is empty. Then again, it could just be the way he looks.

"No need to get your panties in a wad 'cause you think I get what I want." He's frowning for the first time since they woke up - or, since he woke up and Cas decided to stop trying to sleep - two and a half excruciating hours before.

"You wanted to know." Castiel slowed his chugging of the cheap coffee, feeling wired. Well, that could be more from the argument than the caffeine, but he figured he'd stop downing it like jello shots at a frat party.

"Yeah, well you're the one being a dick this morning." Dean was still a bit put off by his behavior. The words made the filter between his brain and mouth malfunction and he could hear the words, but couldn't stop them from spilling out over the table.

"Coincidentally, I know where yours has been this morning." And all activity stopped. No coffee was sipped, no mouths moved, no gazes flickered between two different people as Sam had been doing unabashedly throughout the entire conversation. Silence descended upon their small amount of space until the young waitress was back with their food. Plates were dished out quietly, but the eerie stillness lingered on. _Damn it, Castiel. Damn your brain-to-mouth!_

* * *

The awful breakfast scene haunted Cas as they made their way back to the apartment, still not having said a word to each other other than unavoidable - "pass the syrup," "d'you want salt," etc. Honestly, it was the longest in their friendship that they've gone without talking (excluding the awful few weeks in which he'd attended summer camp and had been forced to abandon all electronic devices) to one another.

The silence echoed in the stairwell, haunted by it's phantom twin as the soft sound of feet hitting the concrete stairs pierced it. The only sound to dull the ring of the silence in his ears was that soft _pad, pad, pad_ of their feet marking the longest trip up those three flights of stairs sans elevator he'd ever taken, with or without another person. He was allowing his brain to get ahead of itself while he was thinking in the stairwell, thinking that he'd only had a few more step to go when the floor number reflected colors he's seen all of his life back at him. One.

 _All that for one fucking flight of stairs?!_ He'd be lying if he said that he didn't speed up a bit and want to make Dean take the stairs three at a time to end the wretched trip before it could give him brain damage. He spun around the turn to the next flight of stairs quickly, solely focused on getting away from the oppressive tension that came from being near his friend that very moment.

It wasn't that he minded Dean having a normal sex drive - he didn't! It happened to be that there wasn't even a girl in their new apartment last night, just the two guys and their new walls. Thin walls that they be. Cas was lying in bed, waiting for his brain to get the message and send out the adenosine, when - at about one thirty in the morning, mind you - he heard shuffling. Truly, Dean should know he's a night owl, they've known each other for years.

He didn't pay too much attention to it, trying to tell himself Dean was just rolling over and he needed to go to sleep. Maybe ten minutes passed and there was shuffling again, a faint creaking accompanying it. His first thought was that his friend was going to get water, but the sound continued. The only other thing he could imagine Dean was doing was that he was dreaming about... someone else.

His face had burned brighter than Rome the five days of the Great Fire. He was listening to his best friend have a sex dream. He turned over in bed, hoping he could focus on the wall and ignore the sounds. Unfortunately, staring at the wall reminded him of the thickness of them and how he knew just how thick they were. A deep groan and muffled curse sounded from the other room. Oh, good. He would stop making sound, right? 

Castiel had closed his eye for less than a minute when Dean grunted. No, no, no, no, no. He couldn't listen to his best friend jack off! It was bad enough he couldn't keep himself from staring too long at the guy, now he'd know what he sounded like. Sam was often teasing him about his comically long stares at the bright green eyes and the spots of honey-colored freckles dancing across his skin. Sometimes, the younger Winchester is so spot on he has the urge to fall into hysteria. " _You look at him like a teenage girl in love._ " If he only knew.

"Ah." The sound was enough to spike Cas' own erection, perking up without permission under his pajamas. No, no, no, no no no no. He definitely could not under any circumstances do that. He could not jerk to the sounds of Dean jerking. No. Way. And, again, his body betrayed him by sending a hand down under at the presence of another moan filtering through the wall. Damn it. He palmed himself through his boxer shorts, biting down on his lower lip to stymie any sounds that may escape without his notice. 

His noncommittal movements were not what was spurring on the pulse of blood running hot in his dick, it was the soft sounds - now coming regularly - of Dean's arousal. Soft 'oh's and 'ah's and 'right there's that were traveling straight from that mouth to his dick. Damn it. Fuck. He wouldn't be able to look Dean in the eyes for years, would he? Nope, probably not. He slowly arched into the contact on his dick, praying for more friction against the needy appendage. 

"Cas..." He stopped his ministrations, not sure if he really heard his own name on that particular set of lips or if his hazed brain had put them there to spur on his movements (if it was his brain's doing, it was doing a hell of a good fucking job). But, there it was again, his friend's sex-clouded voice saying his name as he stroked himself. "Cas." What did that mean? Was he trying to wake him up? Was he imagining it was Castiel that was stroking him instead? What did it mean?

But, just as he returned to palming his own cock, he heard the quiet grunt that had to be Dean finishing. He did jerk himself off, letting his mind come up with unique places and ways he could have his best friend. On his knees, over the kitchen table, against one of these thin walls. He wasn't the least creative of his friends. But, looking over to stare at the glaring green numbers that pronounced it was after two thirty in the morning, he realized hat he still wasn't tired. 

He had less than five hours until he had to get ready for breakfast and he was still wired. So, due to Dean's actions the night before, Castiel was kept up until almost five in the morning and had barely gotten any sleep by the time that his alarm clock sung the song of its people. Wretched song, let me tell you. Terrible song.

Now, Castiel was opening the small door to the third floor and shaking away the memory before it can get the best of him. He focuses on counting the doors. One, two, third on the left. He withdraws his key from his sweater pocket, silently cursing when he tries to put it in upside down. Good job, Cas. Suddenly, there are hands flipping the key and inserting it for him. Damn it! As if his memory wasn't trying to betray him, now Dean was getting too close and succeeding in making the awkward boner of all awkward boners impede on the situation.

It was as if the universe was asking itself, "What could I do to make this situation worse?" Well, bra-fucking-vo! You did it! He turned the key and almost tripped inside, getting away from the smell of oil and leather before he could (god forbid) try to kiss him or something. He needed a drink, so he pulled the bottle of vodka from the top of the fridge, not bothering to try to find a shot glass in the box all of their kitchenware was still in. After a healthy swig, he offered the bottle to the stone-faced Winchester glaring a hole into his chest. It was a quick no.

"So, how long were you awake?" It was the first real sentence he heard Dean say since calling him a dick. He decided to take another pull of the terrible liquid before he answered.

"The whole time." 

"And what did you...?" He trailed off, not able to ask him what he heard, apparently.

"Enough to know you probably call someone else Cas." Again, a deep pull from the terrible alcohol before I return it to it's home.

"No." Castiel was too warm, the vodka sloshing around dangerously in his gut. Maybe he shouldn't have gotten tipsy for a talk with Dean about what happened last night.

"No, what?" He went to leave the kitchen, passing by his friend in the same motion, but was crowded against the wall. The only thing he could see was the deep set emeralds of Dean's eyes staring through him.

"You're the only person I call Cas."

"Oh." 

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He was caught staring into those deep green eyes, reaching up to pinch his arm because this couldn't be happening.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm pinching myself."

"Because I'm dreamy?"

* * *

"Got it right, you are." I type with a sly smile, knowing everyone who reads to this point will hate me just a little bit. I turn to you and tilt my head, a laugh bubbling up with my words. "So meta, right?"

 


End file.
